


So, How Do You Like Your Job

by redeem147



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeem147/pseuds/redeem147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wish. Yes, I'm projecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So, How Do You Like Your Job

It was nearly closing time when I spotted him in the lineup. I hadn’t seen him in the branch before. I don’t remember all the hundreds of clients I serve, but believe me, him I would remember.

 

As the line-up moved slowly, I hoped he’d come to my wicket. I mean, it’s not like I’d want to date a client, but when you spend the day getting abuse for policies you didn’t make, you want any pleasant experience you can get.

 

I thought he would go to Lito, but at the last moment my fellow CSR (customer service rep to the uninitiated - okay, teller) went to photocopy a cheque he’d put on hold, and the client came to me.

 

Standing right in front of me he looked even better. He wasn’t too tall, which is fine with me because neither am I. I couldn’t really see his build, ‘cause he was wearing a long leather coat, a sexy long leather coat. His tight black t-shirt looked, as far as I could tell, to hide a pretty well-cut chest.

 

His hair was short, platinum blond, and slicked back, with waves that implied curls he was trying to keep under control. Hair designed to muss with your fingers.

 

But it was his face. What a face. Piercing, cool blue eyes, the best defined cheekbones I had ever seen, and full, kissable lips.

 

He looked like a rock star, Billy Idol maybe, but better, much better.

 

“Hello, cutie,” he said, and my heart skipped. “D’ya make change?”

 

Mmm. I’m a sucker for an English accent. His voice was deep, erotic and British. The whole package was pretty overwhelming. But I had to concentrate on my work.

 

“Certainly, sir. Is it rolled?”

 

He looked confused for a moment, like he didn’t understand what I meant. He picked up the big plastic bag he was carrying, and set it on my counter.

 

Usually I object to having to count such a big bag of change, but in this case it meant he wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile. I peered into the bag, disappointed, for I knew that our transaction was at an end, and he would be leaving.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said, “but we don’t take kittens.”


End file.
